


Nothing I Wanna Say

by TheMutantHonk



Series: Febuwhump2021 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: "i can't see", Blood, Captivity, Dark, Dick Grayson Whump, Electrocution, Eye Trauma, FebuWhump2021, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt No Comfort, Identity Reveal, Injury, Jason is there a little bit at the end, Mild Blood, Panic Attacks, Restraints, Torture, no beta we die like robins, or very little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29540961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMutantHonk/pseuds/TheMutantHonk
Summary: This wasn't an interrogation. There weren't any right answers here.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Series: Febuwhump2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168589
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Nothing I Wanna Say

**Author's Note:**

> Day 18 - "I can't see"
> 
> Warnings at the end, this might be. I dunno. Upsetting? It's a bit darker than day 17, and on a completely different level from "Thanks Dickhead." I promise I'm not trying to steer away from fluff. Fluff will probably happen again. Please take care of yourself.
> 
> I've been looking for an excuse to write this for awhile now, but I kind of lost steam with the bad guy of the day, which is probably Not Good since he's essentially the plot. Generic bad guy and torture as a plot device. It got away from me and did its own thing. I'm freaking done, I give up, I'm throwing it here before I throw it away. I just came for the eye trauma, my bad. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Please feel free to advise me of any corrections, or anything I missed that should be tagged or warned for. I also cherry-pick canon and use comic book logic, whoops.

The wait was probably intended to make him nervous, antsy for what was to come. 

Right now, Dick was just bored. Bored, and a little sore, thanks to the way his arms were pulled behind his back, tied wrist to wrist, forearm to forearm, elbow to elbow, with loops up around his shoulders, biceps and chest to hold it all in place. There was an additional rope looping through the binds at his wrists, tied to an eyebolt in the floor that forced him to kneel with his back arched. A little creative, uncomfortable, but not unusual if you asked him. It would take a little more than this to have him raising his eyebrows. 

The room they’d taken him to was empty of anything but him, a mounted camera in the corner, and a drain in the middle of the smooth cement floor. There wasn’t even a handle on the door. Small and modern with white walls, like he was in someone’s home or office, rather than the typical warehouse he usually found himself tied up in. Somewhere private, and probably belonged to someone with money. It was cool as well, but tolerable in his suit, not any colder than it had been outside. 

It had been a few hours already, long enough to have him wondering if his emergency alert had failed, as there hadn’t been any time to make sure the signal went though. Perhaps it had, but he was confident his absence would be missed soon. Alfred was expecting him and Jason both for breakfast, and since it was a school holiday he and Damian had plans before he met with Tim and Bruce for lunch. Things with the batclan had been good the last few months, maybe a little too good to be true, but Dick wanted to enjoy it.

As things looked now, it took some effort not to give in and get some shut eye. He felt relaxed for the time being, barring the awkward way his arms were tied and the firm cement beneath his knees. But lowering his guard in captivity was a Bad Idea when he didn't know who he’d be dealing with here. The abductors were hired guns, and no one had spoken a word to him since he'd been tied to the floor, but it was clear they knew what they were doing when a thorough search had everything lifted from him, leaving Dick with only his domino mask and his suit. There wasn't enough slack to free himself from the ropes, and even if there was he didn't see a way out of this room. Professionals, then.

A click alerted Dick to the door opening, and he gave the newcomer a lopsided grin as he took them in. Not someone he’d pick out of a crowd. The man was so average he might just nickname him Joe. Warm gray suit, dark hair, perhaps an inch taller than Dick. Somewhere between Dick’s age and Bruce’s, fit, clean cut nails, and shoes to match the suit. Forgetably charming. Expensive taste, but ordinary. He could have blended in as a plus one at one of Bruce’s galas, and no one would have looked at him twice. That was probably the intention.

“ Finally. I was trying not to take a nap. You didn't happen to bring a deck of cards, did you?” 

Even his smile was average, barring that it didn't touch the man's eyes. “I'm afraid that's a negative, Nightwing. I didn't even think to bring them. How impolite of me.” 

Dick exhaled a heavy sigh, even as he looked past “Joe” to the still-open door. An obvious taunt. Insulting. “No Go Fish for me tonight, I guess.” 

“Allow me to be more accommodating.” The man simply looked amused, and relaxed in a way that put Dick on edge. “Perhaps a game of 20 Questions instead might entertain you?” 

Dick's answer to that was a dramatic groan, and a tilt of his head to imply he was rolling his eyes behind the white lenses. “Really? And I'm sure your first question is going to be ‘Who's Batman?’”

“Oh good!” The fake cheer and clapped hands were a little much if you asked Dick, but he wasn’t running this show. “You really are a smart boy, aren't you?” As if Dick was still ten, rather than in his twenties. 

“I'm sorry to tell you this, really I am. But I'm gonna have to pass on that question. Next.” 

His expression didn't change much, if you didn't know what to look for. But Dick felt just a little colder at the way his dark eyes seemed to brighten somewhat, as if he were pleased with the non-answer he received. “You get one free pass Nightwing. Now I have some things to attend to, some important business if you will,” bad guy speak for letting him stew, Dick was sure, “but we'll continue this game when I return. And when I do, unanswered questions will get a...penalty, if you will.” 

“I hope it's not going to be like strip poker. I don't have much to take off here and uh,” Dick shifted a little, drawing attention to his position, letting his grin turn cheeky, “my hands are a little tied anyway.” 

“I like to think we'll enjoy ourselves anyway.” 

***

While he was gone, Dick had decided to officially name him “Alex.” He looked like an Alex anyhow. Plus it was similar enough to "Asshole." And there was something about him that made Dick think of Lex Luthor, but that was simply coincidental. In any case, it was more fitting than Joe. 

By the time “Alex” returned, Dick was fairly certain it was long enough his absence had definitely been noted, if his tracker had failed to get the signal out after all. His internal clock wasn’t as spot on as Bruce’s might have been, but it was probably halfway through breakfast. An absence at a family meal might not ring alarm bells for anyone in the manor just yet, but when Damian failed to reach him someone was likely to check in on him, even if it was only to ease Damian's mind. 

Alex wasn’t empty-handed when he entered the room, door once more left open behind him. He had a bottle of water that Dick eyed suspiciously, trying to gauge if the seal had been broken or not. It had been hours, not nearly long enough for dehydration to be a concern; Dick was more than willing to wait.

He was more concerned with the sight of the very familiar utility belt slung over his shoulders, complete with escrima still in their holsters. 

“My employees,” Dick scoffed at the term, “discovered some very, very interesting traps protecting your toys.” Just as before, his voice was light, easy-going, like he didn't have Nightwing on his knees in a makeshift cell. 

If he had the room to shrug, he might have. “I guess I never learned to share.”

“Then I'll consider this a learning experience.” That agreeable tone didn't sit right with Dick, but Alex stepped in front of him then, pulling the lid off the water bottle. Dick hadn't gotten an opportunity to examine the seal. “Thirsty?” 

“Nah, thanks though. I hydrated pretty recently.”

“I insist.” The grin did reach Alex’s eyes now, in an unpleasant kind of way. “Ah, I'm sure you're likely worried about dangerous substances. Rightly so; can't be too cautious in your line of work.” He held the water to his own mouth then, and Alex took a drink, two, enough for Dick to see he wasn't faking it. A drop moistened his lips and he dabbed it away with his free hand while he offered Dick the bottle once more, as if his arms weren't still tied behind his back. “See? Perfectly safe.” 

Convincing, but still didn't trust it. “I believe you. Still not thirsty.” 

“I said,” Alex leaned down, taking Dick's jaw in a firm hold. The grip was stronger than he expected, sure to leave bruised imprints along his skin. “I insist.” 

It was a small battle, but it only took seconds before he had Dick's head forced back until he was looking up at the ceiling. The bottle raised above his face, gaze locked on the mouth of it as Alex tipped it forward to pour water over Dick's eyes and nose. His mouth dropped open immediately, but at this angle it did nothing to stop cold water from running into his nostrils, an icy burn erupting through his sinuses to imitate the sensation of drowning. He choked, teeth clicking against the plastic rim as the bottle was pushed into his mouth and held in place. Dick recognized the tangy bitter flavor of salt as he forced himself to swallow so the water didn’t run into his lungs instead. 

He was released abruptly, head allowed to fall forward. Water came right back up between his knees as he gagged and coughed, trying to catch his breath. Useless, for the bottle remained tipped to upend the rest of the water over his head. Dark locks of hair plastered itself to his skin, down to his mask and neck. It left him kneeling in a puddle while droplets rolled over the kevlar of his suit and onto the floor. Dick jerked his head to the side, coughing against his shoulder before he turned his attention back to Alex. A muscle in his cheek ticked while he worked his jaw, turning his best glare on. At least the lenses in his mask protected his eyes from the salt, but that was about the only pro he could find in the situation. 

“I imagine you’re wondering, ‘why saltwater?’” 

“No shit asshole.” Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to antagonize the guy who clearly had bad intentions for him and was happy about it, but Dick only earned himself a chuckle. 

“I’m sure you’re educated enough to understand deionized water doesn’t conduct electricity.” 

That explained the appearance of his weapons. “You graduated high school too, huh? Right on, I'm proud of you. Congratu-fucking-lations.” Teeth flashed in a feral grin, though Dick kept his eyes on his belt even as he relaxed his posture. Hypothetically, he shouldn’t have anything to worry about; his gear was rigged with one-shock failsafes as always, and his weapons were locked with his handprint. 

Realistically? The guy that just dumped a bottle of water over his head looked pretty confident with himself, and Dick suddenly had his doubts that he didn’t have some way to get past some security precautions. Smart as they were, Babs and Lucious weren’t the only geniuses in this corner of the world. 

“Thank you. You're very kind.” Alex settled into a crouch before Dick now, letting the belt slide down his arm so he could give him an unhindered view while he slid one of the escrima sticks free. True to expectations, none of the traps triggered. “Perhaps later we can discuss anything else we might have in common. For now, I’d like to finish our game. Remember, I did say no more free passes.” 

“Sure you don’t have a pack of cards instead?” 

“I’m sure.” The tip of his own weapon tapped against Dick's cheek, nudging his face to the side and sliding smoothly along a trail of water slowly dripping from his wet hair. “Who is Batman?” 

“Next.” 

The word was barely out of his mouth before the expected tingling jolt rushed into his cheek and spread across his skin, ending as quickly as it began. A tease. There was little more than a sharp tingle initially to make his teeth snap together, and he wavered for a second. He caught his balance quickly to prevent further pull on the ropes holding him in place. 

“That must have been a pleasant tickle.”

“Yeah, you know. I’ve had some pretty sore muscles lately. They say electrostim is great for that. I'll probably thank you when we're done here.” 

The next tap of the staff was at the edge of his mask, and Dick turned his head away from that. He couldn’t go far before his shoulders throbbed in protest, and he curled his lip up in a snarl. “Next question it is. Who.” Tap, against the corner of the mask. “Is.” Tap, on the center. “Nightwing?” The opposite corner now.

Whatever answer he gave was irrelevant, as they both knew it wouldn’t take much to rip the domino off if the security measure was shorted out. _When_ it was. “Sorry, don’t know him.” 

The shock didn’t come as quickly as the first one, not before a pleased chuckle. “Good answer.” And the wrong answer, of course, signified by the _zzzt_ he heard more than felt, at first. His eyes squeezed shut, as if that would protect him from the heat as the WayneTech lenses shorted out. An audible crackling signified the destruction of the mask before the escrima left. His nose wrinkled, identifying the scent of ruined electronics. The edge of his mask was gripped then, and he hissed with the sound of adhesive pulling slowly away from flesh. This guy clearly did not believe in the band-aid method. Irritated skin smarted in time with his pulse as he was left revealed, bare eyes shown to his captor. 

“My my my. If it isn’t the former Detective Dick Grayson.” Awesome. He was known for his cop days. That probably didn’t bode well for him, not with the delight in this man’s voice as he straightened up to stand over Dick. “I wouldn’t have pinned most of the police in these parts as the ‘hero’ type, but there are exceptions to any rule, I suppose.” 

“Must be,” he growled, looking up to meet that cruel gaze. It was a bit harder to force another quip out now. The act of his mask literally ripped off exposed him in more ways than just his (or his family’s) identity. And wasn't that just the worst of it. No one was safe now, and who knew what this sadist had in mind for them. 

“Tell me. What of your father?” Dick watched warily as Alex straightened up, looking rather pleased with himself. Cat, canary and all that. “Does Daddy Brucie know you pull on a skin tight costume every night and swing through the urban jungle?” A trick question; the glee in his expression told Dick he already knew the answer to that. 

“Dunno. You’ll have to ask him. I could give you his number.” 

“Perhaps.” And the escrima pressed into the soft spot on the side of his neck now, jabbing in more firmly now. “We’ll discuss that shortly.” 

This time, Dick’s muscles tightened, spasms jolting through him with the force of the shock. His weapons were meant to be nonlethal, but even at his angriest he rarely used them for a prolonged period of time in one go. Copper burst across his tongue, a stabbing jolt burning out from his right shoulder as his body tugged forward, pain in his wrists, fiery tingles dancing over his face. It felt like minutes before the staff was finally pulled away, though his mind distantly registered it was likely a handful of seconds. 

Not the worst he’d suffered by a longshot, not even close, but the way he was left gasping and twitching likely didn’t paint a picture of the strongest front he could have put on. He’d be lucky if the worst damage was simply his shoulder separating and a few burns if the current pattern held. 

“Or!” And Dick needed to lift his head up now to make eye contact, blinking slowly to make his vision focus until he could manage. “Maybe...Daddy Bruce and Daddy Bats are one in the same.” 

“And maybe I’ve got another use for my sticks.” Dick swallowed, licking blood from his teeth with his bitten tongue and turning his head enough to spit. Bloody drool clung to his lips, a string all the way down his chin. “You start by pulling your pants down and bending over. I can walk you through it from here.” 

Alex-or-whatever-his-name-was, Dick was getting ready to change it to something far more derogatory at this point, huffed an amused breath as he returned Dick’s grin. “That’s a tempting offer. I might take you up on it. You’ll have to demonstrate for me first, so I know what I’m doing.” And wasn’t that a threat that had Dick feeling colder than the water still dripping from his hair. He pretended the shiver he felt was from the water anyway.

He couldn’t dwell on it just yet; Alex was moving again, retrieving the discarded belt. His throat tightened, watching his torturer free the second staff. Dick forced himself to still as the tips of them both pressed against his cheeks, at the soft spot beneath his eyes. 

“This answer should be easy for you, Mr. Grayson. A simple yes or no, to a question I could figure out with very little digging at this point. Save yourself some pain.” 

“Pass.” This wasn't an interrogation, it never was.

“I haven’t even asked yet.” Alex chuckled, activating the electrical jolts for a split second in both of them, only long enough to send a teasing tingle across damp skin. Dick’s eyes burned with reflexive tears, head jerking back from the light burns. His cheeks buzzed with a crawling sensation, and his vision wavered momentarily, like he’d stood up too fast. It didn't matter that he pulled back from the weapons. They landed on his skin once more, prodding the fresh pink marks. “Are Batman and Bruce Wayne one in the same?” 

He should answer with the truth. This was too dangerous. Too much of a risk. Bruce wouldn’t condone _this,_ wouldn’t be survive the guilt. Would never forgive himself. Their identities were already exposed, there was no reason to resist. His heart hurt for his family suddenly. For Jason, Damian and Tim. Cass, Steph, Babs and Alfred. His dad.

He also knew, no answer would be the right one. This wasn’t for answers. 

Teeth chattered as Dick spoke without hesitation. “Fuck. You.” 

“Mm. Shame; you had the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” That was the last thing he heard, before the buzzed crackling of electricity as the sticks moved upward and activated. 

_Agony._ There wasn’t another way to describe the sensation that burned through his eyes. It was all he knew at first, cherry bursts across his plane of vision. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but exist through the anguish. Iron and the smell of burning flesh had his stomach rolling, filling his mouth, thick and wet in his nose. Somewhere, far far away, he registered his own desperate screams, and knew they were his. Who else could be screaming when he was in so much pain. His face was wet, but it couldn't have been tears. Not anymore. 

It went on forever. By the time he came back to himself, he was gasping for a breath, face pressed against the cold floor. He knew that was wrong; he’d been kneeling before hadn’t he? The screaming pain in his shoulders was probably a good hint there, but that was nothing compared to his eyes. 

Oh god, his _eyes._

His body continued to spasm, violent twitches that might have been mistaken for a seizure. He wasn’t seizing was he? Shit, shit, was his brain hemorrhaging? That. That was a concern, probably. Electric shocks, something... Something. Or maybe he was being dramatic. He'd spent a lot of time with Jason recently.

Problems for future Dick. Present Dick was going to lay right here and do his best not to move outside the muscle convulsions he had no control over. 

A strange warmth settled over his face, a hand, his struggling brain helpfully recognized. There was a rumbling sound meeting his ears, someone was speaking, but figuring out how to turn sounds into something meaningful was beyond him now. What might have been a thumb moved under his nose, rubbing something wet between his nostrils and upper lip, following the trail across his mouth to smear it in like lipstick. Was his nose bleeding? Everything else in his head seemed to be. He was definitely drooling, and half expected himself to start vomiting soon. 

A short, thunderous sound that echoed like a drum around his skull, and he registered a dull vibration of something solid hitting the ground in front of him. A body. He could think well enough now to realize it was a body. Was his family here? More noise, and another hand on his face now. His cheek was numb, further sparks of pain throbbing though his eyes, but he recognized this touch, the gloves against his skin. 

Just like that, he knew the sound had been a gunshot. He couldn't bring himself to be bothered by the thought, and he didn't think it was due to the head trauma.

“J-Jay?” Wrong thing to say, _wrong wrong wrong_ but their identities were exposed anyway. He needed his brother, not the Red Hood. Given the circumstances he would probably be forgiven. He tried again, his lips and tongue pins and needles as he worked on his brother's name. It felt like a dentist had overdone it with the lidocaine. He'd probably bitten through his tongue, and he couldn't even tell how badly. Didn't care. “Jason?” No hiding the scared lilt in his voice, but even if Jason wasn't alone, even if he thought Damian or anyone else might be there, he didn't think he could bullshit bravery anymore.

More rumbling, more words, but this time Dick fought to understand the voice. “That’s right, Dickiebird. It’s me.” 

A sob suddenly tore from Dick’s throat. He felt Jason’s other hand behind him, slicing through the ropes that pinned his arms together and to the floor. He wasn’t sure if the spike of pain in his shoulders made him cry harder, or if that was merely coincidental. Because even over the still-hot agony that now took up residence in his skull, something more pressing, more despairing hit Dick like a ton of bricks. 

“I can’t see. Jay, I–I can’t–I can’t see.” He had known this would happen, the second his escrima were pressed against the tops of his cheeks. There wasn’t any way he wouldn’t be– he couldn’t even say the word in his head. 

But the knowledge beforehand was _nothing_ compared to the sudden jolting reality. The reality that there was probably _nothing left._ They...they were too damaged. Gone. Just _gone._ There was no fixing this.

He struggled to move his arm, forcing the motion. His chest tightened with the panic and he fumbled to catch Jason’s wrist, latching on as tightly as he could. Was he breathing? Hyperventilating was breathing of a form, right? 

He couldn’t even cry beyond the sobs leaving his throat and shaking his body; there was nothing left to produce tears. God, he didn't even want to know what he looked like. What _it_ looked like. Jason was probably going to be sick as soon as he was out of ear shot.

“I–I know, Dick.” And what was worse, the raw emotion in Jason's voice, or that he was using his name plainly, no nickname or variation of it. He was careful, making sure his hands were applying a firm pressure as he eased Dick up into his arms to hold him firmly.

“I can’t see.” His voice was barely a whisper now, only loud enough to hear over the roar in his own head. Fingers found the edges of Jason’s jacket and he gripped on, as tightly as his weak muscles could manage, focusing on the rough edges of a zipper pressed into his palms. “I can’t see.” 

“I'm sorry, Dick. I'm so sorry.” The words were mumbled into his damp hair, felt more than heard. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: 
> 
> Character is tortured with tase device. There is severe eye trauma at the end, which would be graphically described had it been written in an outside perspective. Think along the lines of Supernatural's typical angel-related eye fuckery, but worse because I am not a CW approved makeup artist.  
> There is also a few seconds of "water" torture, i.e. water spilling over the face/into sinuses.  
> There is a single subtle threat of rape, though not explicitly said, and it's little more than a spoken hint. Almost "blink and you'll miss it."  
> Oh. And Jason shoots a guy. No one's surprised.  
> Please call me out (nicely) if you believe I missed something.
> 
> I do have ideas in mind for a follow up, but I'm not going to promise anything because I always break my own writing promises. I am thinking about it though. Until then, use your imaginations.


End file.
